


This is Not One of Those Times

by KateAtTheClose



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: M/M, Magic Revealed, Misunderstandings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-04
Updated: 2012-12-04
Packaged: 2017-11-20 06:15:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,884
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/582191
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KateAtTheClose/pseuds/KateAtTheClose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which magic and misconceptions run amok, and everybody is surprised at the result (except mostly they’re not).</p>
            </blockquote>





	This is Not One of Those Times

“Sometimes being a friend means mastering the art of timing. There is a time for silence. A time to let go and allow people to hurl themselves into their own destiny. And a time to prepare to pick up the pieces when it's all over.”   
                               ― Gloria Naylor

This is not one of those times.

-

  
  


            It wasn’t that Arthur was physically incapable of or morally opposed to removing his own clothing.  It was just that when one had a manservant to do such tedious tasks instead, it would be remiss to not make use of said manservant.  That was Arthur’s rationalization of it to himself, anyway.

             Besides, Merlin was a piss poor manservant.  He had a tendency to be irritatingly underfoot at the worst possible times, but then be gallivanting off picking flowers for Gaius (or whatever it was he did) whenever Arthur had work for him.  So when Merlin was actually available to cater to the prince’s every whim, Arthur took full advantage.

             Arthur shrugged out of his red studded coat and let the heavy material fall into Merlin’s waiting hands before he sat down on his bed.  Merlin deposited the jacket in the armoire, a rather preoccupied expression cast over his features.  Arthur felt perfectly justified in his irritation that the other boy was apparently too busy daydreaming about pretty country girls to attend to him with the appropriate deference.  He played with his sleeve and watched Merlin poke haphazardly at the contents of his closet, as if there was some sort of…oh, for heaven’s sakes…

             “There isn’t another rat, is there?”  Arthur didn’t even try to keep the disgust out of his voice.

             Merlin’s glanced over his shoulder, appearing vaguely startled, and Arthur hoped he hadn’t actually  _forgotten_  that the prince was in the room. “What?”

             Arthur pressed his fingers to his closed eyelids and moved to rub the bridge of his nose.  “You really are the worst servant, ever.”  He resisted the urge to start checking for rat droppings. 

             Merlin just rolled his eyes and stepped over to tug off Arthur’s belt and sling it over his shoulder.  As he leaned down for Arthur’s tunic, the prince caught the warm scent of herbs and wood smoke and found it strangely comforting.

             “What is so fascinating in that head of yours tonight?”  Arthur held up his arms as the soft fabric was tugged over his head, wondering if Merlin was even paler than usual (and if that was even possible). 

            “Oh, just something Gaius was telling me about earlier.”  Merlin dismissed absently and proceeded to oddly and awkwardly contortion himself as he tucked the shirt under his chin and folded it against his chest.  Arthur, perplexed, was tempted to point out the table just two feet to Merlin’s left, but felt that if his idiot manservant felt such a need to do stupid things  _all the time_  than who would Arthur be to persuade him to stop? 

            Merlin looked oddly pleased with himself as he turned from the armoire devoid of the questionably-folded shirt and belt, and Arthur had to admit to himself that when they weren’t exceptionally irritating, Merlin’s many ( _many)_ quirks were somewhat endearing.

             Merlin took two steps back towards Arthur then faltered, swaying on his feet.  Arthur was at his side immediately, his hands steadying the dark-haired boy’s shoulders.

            “Merlin?”

            Arthur looked into the dazed and blinking blue eyes and irrationally wondered if he should be checking his belt or tunic for poison. 

            “I – I, ehm,” Merlin swallowed, eyes huge.  “I don’t…”

            “What’s wrong?” Arthur demanded, deciding if he did not get a reasonable answer in the next, oh, three seconds he was dragging Merlin to Gaius for a diagnosis. 

            Then, from only a foot away, Arthur watched as Merlin’s eyes changed from brilliant blue to liquid gold and felt his stomach twist at the realization.

             _Magic._

“Who are you?”  Arthur gave the creature he was still gripping a rough shake.  “Reveal yourself, sorcerer!” 

            The thing that looked like Merlin twitched away from him, eyes clenched shut and a thin sheen of sweat appearing on his forehead.

            “What have you done with Merlin?”  Arthur tightened his hold, digging his fingers into the flesh, envisioning Merlin bound in a dungeon or lying dead in a ditch somewhere and feeling as though something were lodged in his throat. 

            “Arthur!”  The one word, so filled with heart-wrenching guilt and pain and so many other things Arthur couldn’t even begin to name served as both an admission and a plea.

            Arthur let go of Merlin and stepped back, at loss for words and feeling numb.

            Everything seemed to slide into place somehow.  Arthur’s subconscious seemed to have already accepted as fact what his mind still screamed in denial at.  All the mysteries, all the unexplained occurrences that seemed to have overtaken his life in the past year, all conspicuously corresponded with how long Merlin had been in Camelot. 

            Arthur had turned away, hit inexplicably hard by the fact that his servant, his  _friend_ , had been lying to him daily for the entire length of their association.  Merlin, with his big ears and stupid goofy smile, was guilty of an offence punishable by death.

            Arthur opened his mouth, to yell or question he had no idea, and had started to turn back around when Merlin made a small, pained sound and his eyes flew open, still burning gold, and a tremor seemed to go through the room. 

             _“Ælmihtig eorð folde, land, egeslic_   _lyft-”_

Arthur couldn’t believe his ears when the foreign words and incantation streamed from Merlin’s lips, low and even, a language he’d never heard except when it had been referred to with fearful whispers. 

            “Stop! End this!”  Arthur demanded, reaching for Merlin to shake him, cover his mouth,  _something_  and ignoring the voice that sounded like his father’s in the back of his head telling him to kill the sorcerer now before his own life was ended.

            But the air in Arthur’s bedchambers had suddenly taken on a thick, charged quality, seeming to snap in his ears like lightening and making his skin tingle with the energy.  The curtains at the windows were flapping wildly behind Merlin, who Arthur felt his eyes drawn to uncontrollably. 

            He was deathly pale, his eyes still shining, his dark hair ruffling against his forehead as he conjured with forbidden magic in front of the Crown Prince, guaranteeing his imminent execution.

             _“-Bewawan, bitan, ge-sæliglic eald mægen-”_

            There was a very audible “ _crack!_ ” in the room as the heavy chair that sat behind the table slammed back against the wall and shattered into splinters.  The table skated to the side where it toppled to the stone floor; the closet’s doors shook on their hinges and haphazardly-piled clothes spilled out on to the floor where they were swept against the walls.  Arthur felt the wind in his face, the air sparking in his vision, hearing the creak of the walls and the rattling of the heavy glass windows in their frames. 

            Then, as suddenly as they had started, the words dropped off and Arthur watched as the whirling  _power_  around Merlin slowed, leaving him flushed, golden-eyed and swaying.

            “What did you do?”  Arthur yelled at him, his fury spiked with fear and a wondrous sense of disappointment that he couldn’t explain.

            But Merlin didn’t reply, but stared off over Arthur’s shoulder, silent but gasping for breath, but then  _shouted_ , a sound filled with agony, and the whirl of magic picked up again and Arthur felt the unreal wind pummel his hair and cheeks and sting his eyes.  Still screaming, a wordless cry, Merlin started tearing at an unseen foe, throwing Arthur into memories of men delirious of fever. 

            There was a banging on the door, not from the inside where the room was once more thrown into chaos, but from the outside.  The muffled shouts of who Arthur assumed to be a servant were drowned out by Merlin’s shouts.  When the dark-haired boy started clawing at his own skin, something in Arthur snapped.  He did the only thing a well-trained fighter like himself could do in a situation like this and threw himself mindlessly into the fray.

            He barrelled into Merlin, tackling him and landing more or less on the bed, his body landing heavily on the slender boy beneath him.  He struggled with the limbs that flailed and fought him, finally managing to anchor a knee on either side of the boy’s hips and pin Merlin’s wrists to the bed. 

            “WHAT IS GOING ON HERE?” 

            Arthur froze, panting, and then slowly turned to where Uther was framed in the doorway.  His father’s face held the stony expression that was impressively regal but really meant Explain Slowly and Protect Your Neck.  A terrified servant was just visible behind the billowing red cloak, and Arthur frantically thought that at least the knocking was explained.

            In the few seconds that followed, Arthur rapidly took stock of the situation in the manner of a true strategist.  He was shirtless, straddling his manservant on the bed and surrounded by broken furniture.  The magical wind had disappeared since he had trapped Merlin beneath him, but a quick glance downwards informed him that the dark-haired boy’s eyes were still glimmering with gold.  Arthur also dutifully took in the pained-sounding gasps and small moans the other boy was making, his cheeks flushed, his head thrown back and all but writhing underneath him.

            Arthur observed the captivatingly pale expanse of neck presented to him, and decided instantaneously that said neck would remain unscathed, no matter what the price.  If Uther saw Merlin’s golden eyes, he’d know him for the sorcerer he was and order him executed.  And Merlin, despite being a gods-awful manservant, was the best friend that he had ever had.  He had placed his trust in Merlin over and over again, and had never been let down (well, mostly).  It was time for him to return the favour.

            “What does it look like’s going on here?”  Arthur tossed back, filling his voice with frustration and irritation, leaning down towards Merlin almost possessively.  Merlin chose that particular moment to give a little whimper and flick his head.  “Close the door on the way out, will you Father?” 

            And, because when Arthur chose to do something, he really committed, he leaned down and captured Merlin’s mouth with his. 

            Merlin made another small noise against his mouth, and Arthur just kissed it away, making a show of it.  He pinned both Merlin’s wrists above his head with one strong grip and delved the other hand into the thick dark brown hair.  When breathing became a rather pressing concern, Arthur pulled away and looked to the door.  Satisfied that it was properly closed and no more Kings or servants were becoming opportunistic voyeurs, Arthur looked down at the boy beneath him and his eyes met not magically golden eyes but strikingly blue ones.

            It was directly at that moment, that Arthur realized that he was quite painfully hard.  He was slightly mollified by the fact that Merlin, whose cheeks had faded to a more healthy pink flush, was similarly hard against his thigh.

            There was a pause that lasted far longer than was even close to comfortable.  Arthur was glad he didn’t have to witness his own facial expressions, because it might have been horrifyingly embarrassing.  Merlin just blinked up at him, confused and pink and all Arthur could think about was how much he wanted to kiss him again.

            “Er.” Was what Merlin finally eloquently broke the silence with.  Arthur rolled off him, realizing that he had somehow managed to entwine their limbs together to an impressive extent, and stood up to find himself face to face with the complete and total destruction of his bedchambers.  There was not a single piece of furniture still intact, even the bedposts were cracked and the hangings in tatters.

            “What happened?”  Arthur ground out, unable to look at Merlin, thinking of golden eyes and heads in a basket.

            “I really was just about to ask you that.”  Merlin quipped, but sounded understandably shaken. 

            Arthur whirled around before he could stop himself.  “Don’t even try to play that with me!  Don’t you think I  _finally_ deserve the truth, Merlin?  Or do you think you can just pull the wool over my eyes,  _again_?”

            Merlin gaped at him, glancing about the room before his clear blue eyes came to rest on Arthur, wide and suddenly full of fear.  “I…I can explain.  There is a perfectly rational and legal explanation for this.  I know how it looks but, but I promise you we will both look back on this and laugh.”

            “No, Merlin.”  Arthur’s voice was dark.  He suddenly felt exceedingly exhausted.  “Tell me about how you’ve been lying to me every day since you waltzed into Camelot.  Tell me how you can conjure whirlwinds in my  _bedroom_  and make your eyes change colour.” 

            “Whirlwinds?”  Merlin repeated quietly, a look of dismay on his face.  Then he shook his head gently and scrubbed his face with his hands.  When he looked up again Arthur saw he looked even worse than he himself felt, and remembered the way he had swayed on his feet and cried out in pain.

            “Arthur, look – I was born this way.  It’s who I am.  Asking me to stop doing magic isn’t like asking you to stop hunting, difficult but achievable, but like asking you to stop breathing, simply impossible.”  Merlin was looking at Arthur in a way that made Arthur want to take him into his arms again.  “I have only ever used magic to protect you, Arthur, never against you or to endanger you.  You have to believe me in this, trust me as you said you did before.”

            Merlin had always been a terrible liar, but Arthur couldn’t find fault with this.

            “I don’t know what happened tonight.  Gaius said it was one of the high nights of the old religion, and I’ve felt strange all day.  The last thing I remember is, uhm, undressing you.”  A blush appeared on Merlin’s face once more, and Arthur resisted the urge to clear his throat. 

            “You were in some sort of trance, saying an incantation.  I tried to get you to stop and my father walked in.”  Arthur refused to wince, although if ever a moment warranted it, it was that one.

            “Uther knows I’m magic?”  Merlin’s fingers were at his pale throat even before he finished talking, looking stricken.  Arthur wondered momentarily when Merlin became on a first name basis with the king, then decided to forgo this train of thought and settle on the fact that Merlin’s impropriety knew no bounds.  And, apparently, neither did his.

            This time Arthur really did clear his throat, suddenly finding himself quite short on air.  “Don’t worry, he just, er, thinks I’m having my way with you.”

            “He, wait, WHAT?” Merlin blinked, looking just as in fear for his life as he did a moment ago.

            “If he’d seen your eyes or known the damage to the furniture was caused by your magic, you’d be executed before the next sunrise.  You won’t be executed for being a mistr- er, consort to the prince.  Some kingdoms give that position special privileges, actually.  Although this situation might be a little different.” Arthur tried to reassure Merlin, wondering why he was the one doing the reassuring when he felt it should quite possibly be the other way around. 

            “So that’s why you were snogging me, then.” Merlin had a strange glint to his eye.  “To save my life.”

             “Well, yes.”  Arthur answered, and then when he felt far too vulnerable, pettily added “It’s not like I actually fancy you or anything.”   _Now who’s telling the lies, Arthur?_

             “Oh, so you’re still a prat then.” Merlin replied quickly, actually sounding  _amused._  

             “I’m still the Crown Prince, and you’re still my servant.”  Arthur answered, feeling as if he were grasping at straws.  He could not really bring himself to mind.

             “I thought I was the Royal Consort now?”  Merlin smiled cheekily. 

             Arthur fought the smile trying to break out on his own face, and looked forlornly at the shards of what used to be a chair he was able to throw himself moodily into.

             “I hope you’re bloody well worth saving.”  He complained, but there was something warm in his chest. 

 

* * *

 

            They decided – to prolong the charade, of course, since it was the practical thing to do – that Merlin should stay in Arthur’s bedchambers until morning.  It was strange for Arthur to be attempting to fall asleep in the same bed as someone else, and he suspected Merlin felt the same.  They made sure to stay on opposite sides of Arthur’s large bed, facing away from each other as they fell asleep. 

            When Arthur woke up, it was to the spicy scent of wood smoke.  A warm and comfortable weight rested on his chest, and something soft was against his chin.  Arthur blinked awake and found Merlin’s face tucked against his shoulder, the other boy’s hand resting gently on his chest.  Arthur’s arms were wrapped around the slender boy’s body, and Arthur was overcome by the feeling of  _rightness_  that seemed to come with it.  His brain unhelpfully informed him that as future king of Camelot, he shouldn’t be snuggling with him manservant.  Other parts of his body, however, begged to differ.  Those bits thought he should stay right where he was, thank you very much.

            Merlin started to stir, nose brushing across Arthur’s collarbone, and Arthur had a moment of panic where he contemplated pretending to still be asleep or throwing Merlin off of him.  As it happened, Arthur merely blinked down at where Merlin had frozen against his body.  He wondered if he should be the one to manfully break the silence.

            “Hello.” Merlin mumbled into his chest, wide eyes meeting Arthur’s.  Arthur silently swore that if he had followed that up with ‘fancy meeting you here’ or ‘come here often?’ he would have been forced to not speak to him ever again or at least until next Tuesday.  

            “Good morning.” Arthur replied politely, in some sort of inexplicable intellectual daze.           

            And then Merlin leant the few inches upwards and pressed his lips to Arthur’s, and any sort of thought capacity that he might have retained was tossed out the metaphorical window. 

 

* * *

 

            “So I hear you’re shagging Merlin.”  Morgana said conversationally after she tugged him unsuspectingly into her chambers later that morning, her eyes glinting with barely-concealed glee.

            “Well it certainly appears that way, doesn’t it?”  He answered haughtily, but Morgana just naturally assumed that he was being characteristically mulish and not surprisingly truthful. 

            “Edwin said that there’d been an awful commotion coming from your room, and your father grew suspicious.  Uther thought someone was bewitching or attacking you.”  Morgana’s small smile somehow betrayed her immense joviality.  “After Edwin’s knocking went unanswered, he burst in.”

            Arthur held himself back from asking who the hell Edwin was when he remembered the petrified servant hiding behind Uther in the doorway the night before.  Damn Morgana and her irritating memorization of all the household servants’ names.

            “Yes, I  _was_  actually there.”  Arthur snidely cut in, but Morgana pleasantly ignored him. 

            “Instead of finding his sole son and heir in mortal peril, he’s _ravishing his manservant!_ ”  Morgana gave up the pretence and burst into gales of quite unladylike laughter, collapsing into a plush chair as a mass of slender limbs and glossy skirts.  

            Arthur just tried not to bury his face in his hands, but found the corners of his mouth twitching upwards. 

            “So I suppose you’re going to mock me endlessly now for my choice of bed partner.” Arthur mentioned gloomily after her hilarity had died down. 

            Morgana waved dismissively, shooting him an incredulous look.  “Half of Ealdor thought you were already shagging him.  Gods, Arthur, Hunith practically gave you two her blessing!” 

            At Arthurs steadily increasing look of astonishment, Morgana encouraged him to sit at another chair, a look of disbelief on her face, evidently fearing his impending collapse. 

            “Did you really think you were being that subtle?” Morgana asked, a note of concern creeping into her voice of scepticism.  “There have been rumours since the poisoning incident spread in the kitchens.”  She patted him consolingly on the arm.  “Gwen and I thought it was only a matter of time before there was some truth behind them, really.”      

            Arthur rather numbly gave up and buried his face in his hands.  He scrubbed at his face, then shoved his fingers in his blonde hair and stared at the stone floor. 

            “So do you really care for him, then?”  Morgana asked softly after a moment, her hand gentle on his back. 

            Arthur felt they had finally come to the crux of the matter.

            “Yes.”

 

* * *

 

            After Morgana let him out of her clutches, Edwin – bloody Morgana and her knowledge of names – cornered him in the hallway and informed him that Uther requested and required his presence in his royal chambers.  Arthur wondered when it had become appropriate for servants to track princes down and trap them in hallways, then came to the unavoidable realization that Merlin had been giving them ideas.  Just bloody brilliant. 

            As Arthur was escorted to his father’s rooms in a way he had not been since he had last been thrown in the dungeons (which, really, was a far too frequent occurrence), he organized rebuttals in his mind along the lines of ‘ten reasons why Merlin should not be beheaded/exiled/sent to the stocks for sharing my bed’.  Romantic liaisons had always been strictly advised against by his governesses and tutors as he was growing up, since he would inevitably marry with the interests of Camelot first and foremost on his father’s mind.  While he may only get a stern reprimand (or another night in the dungeons), he had been warned that any partner he would be indiscreet enough to be caught with would have a much harsher punishment.  

            Uther, unlike other kings in neighbouring kingdoms, did not believe in bestowing any prestige upon mistresses (or the male equivalent, Arthur assumed).  Arthur had confidence however that he could talk his father down from ordering anything too drastic as punishment for Merlin.  Unlike magic, which equalled death in every instance, crimes of a personal nature were dealt with far more informally and circumstantially.  

            When Arthur reached his father’s chambers, he found Uther reclining in a chair in front of the fire, a goblet of wine held loosely in his hand.  He didn’t move at Arthur’s entrance, but gave a dismissive wave over his shoulder to Edwin.  As the servant bowed out of the room and shut the door quietly, Uther turned and regarded Arthur heavily.  Arthur held himself still under his father’s gaze, refusing to fidget and meeting his eyes steadily.  After a tense moment Uther relented and turned his stare back to the flames.

            “There is nothing more common then youthful indiscretions.”  Uther informed the room in general.  Arthur stood stiffly at his side.  “It is the nature of adolescence to test the boundaries, especially in matters of the flesh.”       

            Arthur found the idea of discussing ‘matters of the flesh’ with his father quite horrifying, and did not want this conversation to take place at all.   

            “When I was young, there was a young kitchen maid named Hilda.”  Uther’s voice took on a nostalgic tone, and he sipped his wine contemplatively.  Arthur grew more alarmed by the second, and wanted to clamp his hands over his ears.  Uther either was oblivious to or ignored his son’s intense discomfort.  “I blithely disregarded the warnings given to me, and pursued her until I, hmmm, won the day.”  He gave a dark chuckle, and Arthur closed his eyes in mortification. 

            “Well, nature took its course, and a few months later she was with child.  A royal bastard, exactly what I had been warned about.”  Disgust coloured Uther’s voice.  Arthur was struck dumb by the implications.  A first born son, even of dubious maternal stock, would be a serious contender for the throne.  Since Arthur knew of no threat to his succession, he had a moment of intense and terrifying fear.  Had his father ordered the execution of an innocent newborn of his own blood?  What kind of man could be capable of such cruelty?  One who had standing orders to execute men, women and children found to possess magic, perhaps.   

            “She died in childbirth.”  Uther took a lengthy sip of wine.  “Along with her infant.  A most fortunate tragedy.”    

            Arthur was still, his thoughts in turmoil, flooded with relief and yet wondering at what his father would have done if nature had not intervened. 

            “So you see, Arthur.”  Uther turned in his seat, meeting Arthur’s eyes, cold and regal.  “It is a most ingenious way you have found to experience your ‘youthful indiscretions’ while avoiding the danger I myself fell prey to.” 

            “Yes, father.”  Arthur agreed numbly.  

            Uther turned back to the fire.  “I’ll see you at dinner this evening.  And tell Edwin to bring more wine, will you?”

 

* * *

 

            Arthur knocked on the doors of Gaius’ rooms firmly, ignoring the hesitancy that threatened to overtake him.  He heard voices from within, but couldn’t quite make out the words.  It sounded almost certainly like an argument, with Merlin’s voice warring with Gaius’ deeper one, and the latter holding the upper hand.           

            It was Gwen who swung the door open, her eyes widening with surprise when she saw who was standing in the doorway. 

            “Sire!” She gave a quick curtsey, then whirled around to face Merlin and Gaius, who had both fallen quiet.  Arthur could have sworn some sort of silent conversation took place between the two younger servants, but Gwen turned back to him before he could be certain.  “If you’ll excuse me, I must go attend to my Lady.”  She left in a twist of skirts and smiles, her footfalls loud away down the hallway. 

            “Is there any way in which I can be of assistance, Sire?”  Gaius asked politely, wiping his hands on a cloth from where he stood above his worktable.  

            “I need to talk to Merlin,” Arthur told him authoritatively, ignoring the automatic urge to formulate an excuse.  “To discuss his blatant disregard of his duties.  My armour looks positively dreadful.”  Alright, so he couldn’t resist completely.   He was only human after all. 

            Gaius seemed to give him an indulgent look (sometime he wondered if  _anyone_  understood the whole royal prince concept) before bustling over to a side table.  “Yes, of course, I have some deliveries in the castle to make.  Make sure the tabletop flame is out if you leave the room, Merlin.”   

            After he left, Arthur finally allowed his gaze to move towards Merlin, who was watching him with a mixture of worry and something Arthur thought might be affection. 

            “You shouldn’t tell lies, your majesty.  Your armour has never looked better. I polished it yesterday.” 

            Arthur scowled and took a step towards Merlin, who just seemed to smile wider.  “It was a shoddy job to be sure; did you happen to polish it with your eyes closed?” 

            “No, I was reading a terribly interesting book at the time, so I’m fairly certain they were open.” Merlin assured him, blue eyes shining. 

             “Oh?  And how did you manage such an astonishing feat?”  Arthur seemed to be standing right in front of Merlin, with no memory of moving across the room.

             “I just used one of my special abilities as Royal Consort.” Merlin’s eyes were exceptionally blue. 

             “I see.”  Arthur rather wanted his eyes to turn to liquid gold again, and wondered if that was tempting fate.  “Are you sure you are alright after last night and the…” He trailed off, but made a vague gesture that he hoped implied ‘magical whirlwind of chaos that destroyed my bedchambers and forced me to ravish you in front of my father which I quite enjoyed the results of except for the humiliating and traumatizing talks with Morgana and my father’. 

            Merlin seemed to capture the gist – he was fairly magic, after all – and nodded to Arthur.  “It was the holiest day of the old religion, and power had just been coursing through my veins all day. I had to hold it back, hold it in… It was agony, really, but you were around for most of it and I knew I couldn’t let it show or I’d be immediately headless so I just sort of… tried to keep it in and ignore it.”

             “So it was a case of magical frustration then.” Arthur said, attempting to be understanding and consoling but really just sounding like a dolt.  Merlin’s blue, blue eyes glittered with amusement, but he knew his attempt was appreciated.

             “Something like that.” 

              They had leaned in closer, almost without conscious effort, and Arthur found his hands resting comfortably on Merlin’s slender hips and his lips ghosting across Merlin’s.

             “There’s something you should know.”  Arthur held his mouth just apart from Merlin’s, his voice soft and hushed. 

            “I won’t have you beheaded for it, I promise.”  Merlin’s words were gentle brushes of air against Arthur’s lips. 

             “You were bloody well worth saving.”  Arthur told Merlin, quietly sincere, and then he kissed him.    

**Author's Note:**

> This was written in 2008 for prompt 137 at the Anonymous Kink Meme, which can be found here: http://nozomi-no-da.livejournal.com/94931.html.
> 
> I really, really wanted to title it “UNDERCOVER IN A GAY BAR,” except that only those who read the original prompt first would understand why and I feared chaos would reign in the mass confusion of those who didn’t. So the title is a response to the Gloria Naylor quote. 
> 
> I liked the first one better.


End file.
